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For me, growing up had its highs and lows, like any other kid. I was born to a Canadian mother, who had her original ancestry two generations before in Eastern Europe; and a French-Canadian father, who was several generations before my mother in Canada. Although, for the life of me, I could never quite figure out much about my father's ancestry (him passing in a tragic accident before I was born), and his roots obscured by tragedy, hardship and just not quite a good enough paper trail to be able to check through. My paternal grandfather was a bit of a scalawag when he was young, and seemed never to either wish to know about his ancestry, or simply did not care.

Growing up not really knowing both sides of my family lineage too well presented pitfalls and advantages. But I seemed to cling to a study of my mother's side more, for my mother was alive and could fill in some of the gaps in her side of the family's history and line. Marvelled at stories of cossack warriors in Eastern Europe, as well as stories of an engineer and a violin maker in the blood- family. My mother never wanted me to forget about my dad and at times seemed dismayed at my interest in her side of the family more. Certainly, I never understood it then. But as an adult, who just lost his mother to cancer, I understand it now. My mother never wanted me to forget about my dad, and that his blood also flowed through my veins.

My older brother was very blonde and fair growing up. I had red hair and blonde hair too, growing up, but it quickly darkened as the years went by. Humorously, I often thought of that. In his mind, he was more attuned to my mother's side, thinking he was more like them. Being an analytical kid, I often pointed out to him that we were the same. This often made me chortle over the years into adulthood, my eldest brother pointing out to him that he was adopted! Kids can be so cruel.

I grew up in a large family of the two brothers and a sister. My mom, being a single mother, raised four kids virtually on her own and showered us with deep love and affection. She always kept us respectful of not only our father's line, but respect for all. She was an amazing woman, who could communicate with such precision and finiteness, without being pretentious-snobs and elitists she hated. Thanks to my mother, I had a fine childhood, growing up to want to know more about my father's side, as well as my mother's. Along the way, respecting and treating everybody else as best as I could.

Learn more about this author, Todd Daigneault.
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